Sense of Touch
by Midnight-Cheshire
Summary: This is a revision of 'If I Die Young', please read the author's note inside. The original is still available if you prefer it. There's been a terrible hit and run, that's left two people seriously hurt and a couple of rustlers hanging around town looking for something. I'm obviously terrible at summaries, so just get in there and check it out yourself! I don't own the Dukes.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **_This is the complete revision of my old story 'If I Die Young'. Many aspects of it have been changed, including character names and the timeline, which will have many more confirmed dates than the previous version. This means that my AU timeline interferes with canon. If you don't like fics like that, I suggest reading the original version. :) If you don't mind, then by all means, read on and enjoy! Feedback and suggestions are always greatly appreciated!_

* * *

I was about to turn fifteen, in six months. I just finished my freshman year of high school – yesterday, in fact – and today, myself and three friends drove an hour out of town to go on sort of a fishing trip. Of course, I didn't drive. I can, though, but I haven't got a license or a permit yet.  
It wasn't just a fishing trip, though, we were all going to swim and have kind of a picnic. My best friend, Olivia, who just graduated and was like a sister to me, drove a rusty, frail old two door pickup. She brought the bait, poles and ice chests, and the other two brought the food and soda.

The other two, siblings – only a year apart – were closer to Olivia than they were to me. One, Elise, was closer to my age, and about to be a junior, and the other, Harley, was Olivia's age. Neither of them really talked much, and were more of the artsy type. We were all an odd bunch. I was the farm girl, Olivia was an aspiring writer, and the siblings shared an interest in performance arts. Elise wanted to be an actress, and Harley wanted to be a director.  
This little fishing hole we were going to was a small pond at the end of a dirt road, near the back of Harley and Elise's aunt and uncle's land. It was always really quiet there, and shady. The perfect amount of sunlight would sliver through the leaves and branches that formed a canopy over the water.  
When we arrived, Elise laid towels and blankets out on the ground, and Olivia and I unloaded the truck. Harley and Olivia actually fished for a while, sitting on a fallen log over the water, catching mostly small fish and such.  
After a few hours, we were all soaked to the bone, 70's rock music was blasting out of the open windows of Elise's station wagon, and we began to notice ripples on the water from raindrops falling through the branches.

"Ah guess we have ta go then." Elise said, sighing. "It probably ain't gonna get any better."  
"Aw come on," Olivia said back. "I'm leavin' for Covington in _two days_. I won't be comin' back!"  
I rolled my eyes and grinned. "Covington ain't but two hours from here. If you can't come over, we will!"

Olivia smiled and began putting the fishing stuff back in the truck. None of the fish were big enough to keep, so they put them back in the water and left the ice chests empty. The rain was falling a little bit harder now, but we were already soaked from swimming, so we didn't bother with trying to dry off.  
About half an hour home, Elise and Harley split off toward Stillwater, and it was just Olivia and I on the road.  
"You're comin' back sometime later this summer, right?" I asked, hopefully. There aren't a lot of people I was this close to, and I've known Olivia my entire life.  
"Don't worry. You said it yourself, I'm only two hours away. That ain't far." I nodded. Elise had been right about the weather, the rain was falling harder now, and it was almost impossible to see the sunlight behind the angry clouds. Olivia switched on the headlights and turned the radio down so she could focus more, and hopefully see a little better in the low visibility.  
There wasn't much to talk about right now anyway.

* * *

We couldn't have been more than ten minutes from town when it happened. Only _minutes_ from our homes. There was a t-junction in the road, y'know, like a three way intersection. There was a big, old oak tree on the other side of the road, and someone was speeding down the road opposite from us. They didn't have their headlights on, and didn't stop at the sign. Neither of us saw them, not quite at first, but I could tell that whatever they were driving, it was a lot bigger than what we were in.  
I heard the tires screeching as the pickup slid sideways across the wet pavement, and my head slammed into the window when I was thrown to my right. The passenger airbag cushioned me from hitting anything else in the truck, but it still gave me a bloody nose and lip. And the window on my side shattered when the pickup hit the tree.  
Time slowed down from there. There was glass in my hair and arm, and the door was sort of bent inward. For a few agonizing moments, I felt like I couldn't move at all, but when I finally did, I looked over my shoulder, to my left, at Olivia.  
Her airbag hadn't deployed, and she was leaned over the steering wheel with blood down the bridge of her nose and the sides of her face. Her window was shattered too, but the door was so bent out of its original shape…it looked like her legs might be trapped under the dashboard. She was still breathing, but unconscious.

I heard voices outside the truck, but I couldn't get out. Someone was out there yelling, and another person arguing with him. Finally, I saw the silhouette of someone coming closer before I heard, "God, you gotta let me radio for help!" and the second person yelling at him to get it over with because he didn't want to stick around. Cowards, I thought. Next thing I know, they're both gone, and the rain kept falling.

"_Can you hear me?"  
"Open your eyes, sweetheart. You're gonna be okay."_

I felt like I shouldn't believe that. Every inch of me was on fire, and I could vaguely feel the warm blood on my face and right arm. My clothes were starting to dry out, but right now my fuzzy mind only wanted to focus on the fact that I was restrained, and there was something solid under me. I wasn't in the truck anymore, and the clouds were starting to clear.

I pulled against the straps, or whatever was holding me down, and tried to sit up. Hands on my shoulders firmly held me in place, which only served to add to my terror since I couldn't see a thing. When I couldn't move my arms, I tried my legs, and my already jerky movements became more frantic. Or, as frantic as they could be in my state.

"Calm down." One person said.

The raindrops were very few and scarce, and the afternoon sky was starting to sliver through the thin clouds. I started to struggle against whatever was holding me down, but I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders and reassuring voices.

"_It's alright, we're paramedics, sweetie. Sit still, we're gonna get you stitched up."_

Now I figured I was on a stretcher, or a gurney, and they started moving me into an ambulance. Before I drifted out of consciousness again, someone told me that ''my friend was in another bus."

* * *

_Well, the beginning of the chapter certainly dragged on a little, didn't it?And escalated a bit toward the end. I thought about saving the wreck for another chapter,but since you've probably already read the original, there's really no point because you most likely already know what's going on._


	2. Chapter 2

**Ugh, I have a cold, and thus, have lost my voice. I was no use at rehearsal today because I had no voice to boss people around with. Oh well, here's chapter two!**

**EDIT: Needed to proof read this before submission, the previous version of Chapter 2 was NOT the final version. My apologies.**

* * *

Unconsciousness is nothing like sleeping. As, when you sleep, you dream, and you rest. However, when you are unconscious – for any reason – there are no dreams, nor is there rest. It is only inky blackness and a fog, per se, that seems to never lift, and when you wake, you hardly remember.  
Of course, that's probably _why_ you think nothing happens in your head, because you don't remember it. But I suppose that it doesn't really matter now, does it?  
When I finally reached a state of barely-wakefulness, it was difficult to maintain. My eyes were so heavy, my throat dry and my mouth sticky, like I had a mouthful of honey or molasses in it. My body ached from lying down so long, and I tried to move a little, only successful in turning my head and groaning. Someone was in the room with me, and as soon as they realized I was awake, began to mutter "thank God" and kissed my head, and asked me if I was alright.  
When I tried to answer, my croaky voice came out hoarse and barely audible, so I ceased trying to utter any words. My vision never came into focus, but I could smell the sterile chemicals of a hospital, and the beeping of monitors and machines. I shifted a little in the bed, and looked around, trying to clear my vision from the darkness that I saw. Reaching out to my sides, I grabbed the bed rails, and the blankets, but gave in when nothing changed.

I heard movement around the room, and footsteps from what I figured was an open doorway. I thought it was sort of funny how I noticed every little sound now, since I couldn't see.

"Alright, Mavis,"  
"That's my name?" I thought aloud, unaware I had actually spoken until I heard a soft "what?" from beside me.  
"Yes, I'm Dr. Appleby, and I'm going to ask you a few routine questions. First of all, do you know the date?"  
I searched my thoughts, and broken memories, for the correct answer, but yet I didn't know it. I remembered one number, perhaps from a magazine, a newspaper or something, but "1984?" was all I could offer.  
Dr. Appleby nodded, so I figured that at least the year was correct. Who knows how many days I had been out, so not knowing the exact date was acceptable.

"Do you know your full name?"  
Mavis was all I heard when I first woke, and I hadn't thought about it at any point before he came in. That was a bad thing. I know that. I'm supposed to remember my own name. So I shook my head, looking down at the papery thin blanket that covered my lap.  
"Who's the president?" Dr. Appleby asked, unfazed by my answer.  
Once again my answer was a silent shake of the head.  
"Where do you live?"  
"This is Georgia, isn't it?" I asked. The stranger next to the bed sighed. Dr. Appleby turned his attention away from me and began speaking to the stranger, as if I weren't there.

"Can you see anything in the room?"  
"No…"

"She seems to have temporary amnesia resulting from the physical trauma dealt to her head during the accident." He said. "It can last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, so once she's released, and she's up to it, surround her with things that might jog her memory. People, places, and maybe bring by some photographs later today for her to look at."

"That can't be it." The second person in the room said quietly.

"Unfortunately, no." Dr. Appleby responded regretfully. "On impact, the right side of her head struck the window, then the airbag. The force of the impact caused very minor cerebral contusions, as well as a coupe-contrecoup. The contusions shouldn't cause you much trouble; you may notice trouble with socialization skills, personality change, and possible effects to orientation, such as balance, vision or hearing. A coup-contrecoup results in occipital lobe damage, which can cause temporary blindness. All the scans that were taken earlier revealed no permanent or severe damage. You should be improving within the week, and recovered completely in several more.

"When _do_ I get out of here?" I interrupted.  
"We're keeping you here a few more days for observation." I nodded and thanked him quietly, and he left.

"Do you know who I am?" The man beside the bed asked, tiredly. "Are you…" I knew you aren't supposed to answer a question with another question, but it was all I could do.  
"My father?"  
He patted my shoulder comfortingly. "If you're up to it, there's a few people who want to stop by and see you."  
"Okay." I said. "Who?"  
"Our cousin and uncle. Maybe a few others. There's a couple of kids from your school that want to see you."  
I started to reply, but realized that pointing out that I remembered no one, not even my own father, was pointless. The doctor thinks I should see people I know, or should know, in case it helps. I nodded my approval, and Dad (how weird it felt saying that right now) told me to rest and left the room to make a few calls.

* * *

After sleeping for a little while, and gaining that well deserved rest that I didn't get while unconscious (there's that word again), the cousin and uncle that Dad told me about came by to visit.  
The cousin, her name was Daisy – I thought it was much prettier that my name, Mavis – told me all about myself. She told me my favorite colour, my favorite activities, she gave me pictures. I told her she was a great cousin if she knew all that about me, then I asked her about her, because too much info about myself all at once might be a little overwhelming. She said she went to the same high school I'm going to, and even had the same freshman math teacher that I did. She got married last year, to a Deputy, and might be expecting, but said she wasn't sure yet. Uncle Jesse couldn't stay long, but he seemed like a wise man. He told me a few good stories, but didn't really say much else, I guess because he figured that I had already had enough 'new' information for the day.  
The two kids from school came by, but didn't stay more than a few minutes. Once could barely look at me, she was crying a little. The other wanted to say something, but the girl said no. I didn't need to hear it yet. They stopped by the school and picked up my yearbook for me. There were some papers stuffed under the front cover, all had notes from students (that I apparently knew) and a few teachers. Each was just a variation of 'Get better soon," so I folded them and put them away to read later.

* * *

**AN: **_I do not claim to be an expert in the medical field, however, I did the research and took the notes that my time would allow, and my go back in the future to revise what has been written. Some information in this chapter, and any future ones, may be incorrect._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sense of Touch**_

_**AN:**__ Yep, changed the title. Sorry if it's confusing. I just didn't like the previous one.  
We all knew it was bound to happen.  
__Sorry it took so long to get this chapter done. I was on a roll with SNAFF, and didn't want to interfere with the sudden bout of inspiration. This chap focuses more on Mavis' struggle with being blind._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own the Dukes._

* * *

The darkness I saw whenever I opened my eyes equaled to that of what I might see whenever they were closed. I wasn't sure of the difference, but it still frustrated me. I was so tired of the papery hospital gown, which had begun to irritate my skin, and the bandage on my head that made my forehead itch. The scent of bleach and cleaner carried throughout the small building like wildfire smoke in the wind. I coughed, and my throat was dry, most days, unless I could convince the nurse to open my window and shut the door. I appreciated the fresh air in the room; I could just lay there in the bed, all day, listening to the outside world.  
Someone came in every day, for 'regular checkups'. What can you see, they would ask. The dark, I would say back. The dark is all. They associated my snarky responses and attitude to the myriad of things that went wrong when I hit my head on the window and the torn up, metal bar exposed headrest in the truck. Right hemisphere brain damage is a contributor to sudden personality change.  
I pretended not to notice when someone came in with a Polaroid and took pictures of the bandage on my head, and my overly bruised and lacerated arm. The sound of the flash was loud, annoying, and hard to ignore, but it was all necessary for a proper investigation.  
As long as anyone was at work, I was alone in my room, aside from my meals and when the nurse came in to give me my pain meds and antibiotics, so I became accustomed to listening to the television, or to listening to the hustle and bustle of a day at Tri-County hospital.  
One day, I guess a Saturday, Dad came by with a plastic bag and laid it on the bedside table.

"You're going home today." He said. Great, I thought. A shower is going to feel so good.  
"There's a change of clothes in the bag. On the table." He added. "Do you need help?"  
"What kind of clothes?" I asked, sitting up.  
"Sweats." He answered. "Then no," I said. "I don't."

He left the room, and shut the door quietly behind him. I slowly reached my hand out and felt for the bag sitting on the table, finally finding it and dumping its contents onto my lap. I sighed bitterly when I accidentally put the sweatshirt on backwards, ending with the hood over my face. Aware that I still had no shoes, I carefully walked across the cold tile floor, sliding my feet carefully in to my right and left every few steps before I made it to the door.  
Fumbling with the door handle for a second, I finally got it open before someone took me by the arm and turned me back toward the room.

"No ya don't. Don't try walking around." Dad said, leading me to a chair and had me sit down. "If you're ready, I can get ya a wheelchair so we can go."  
"I don't want a wheelchair." I said. "I just proved I can walk."

But wheeling patients out of the building was hospital policy. Dad pushed the chair, but the nurse walked beside it, threatening to strap me to it if I didn't stop fidgeting and trying to get up. The automatic doors at the emergency care side of the hospital hissed open, and the piney scented summer air blasted me in the face, a warm comparison to the cold, air conditioned, and sterile scented hospital.

"Can I get up now?" I asked, immediately aware of the change in my surroundings.  
"I'd rather you didn't." Dad said.  
Slumping back in the chair, I rested my head in my hand, which was propped by the armrest.  
"Did you bring that racecar that Bo talked about?" I asked.  
"Of course not!"  
"What? Why not?"  
"Why do you think?" Dad asked, matter-of-factly. "The doors don't open and you're blind."  
"Doesn't mean anything." I said, disappointed.

* * *

The way I was treated at home was no different. On the car ride there, the window of the truck was rolled down, and I laid my head beside it. The passing wind twisted and tangled my already frizzy hair, which was tied into a ponytail. I sighed, wondering if this would ever end.  
The truck slowed down and came to a halt, most likely in front of a house or garage, and I leaned back in my seat, relief washing over me. I felt for the door handle, pushing the old metal door with a rusty-sounding creak. Jumping to the ground, as if I knew where I was going, I began walking. I've heard stories about people going blind, but they know their surroundings so well they don't need assistance. I suppose I figured that that was my case, despite having amnesia. Cliché right?  
There was a set of footsteps, soft and animal sounding, bounding toward me. I stopped, perplexed at how well my senses adjusted to the absence of one of the others.  
I slowly reached my right hand out, fingers pressed tightly together and twitching slightly. Something cold, and damp – a dog's nose – pressed against the top of my hand. The dog licked my hand, barely, and so gently that I realized it knew something was wrong.

"That's Axel." Dad said.

Axel the dog. Axel – such a fitting name for a dog that lives with people who live for cars. Must have been my own little inside joke or something.  
I stayed put, worried slightly that the dog might bite me or something, but he instead took the edge of my sleeve with his mouth, and pulled carefully. When I didn't budge, he jerked my sleeve harder, urging me to move my feet.  
Axel led me to the house, and backed up the stairs, pulling up on my sleeve awkwardly to let me know that there were stairs I needed to go up.

"Is he trained?" I asked, when he stopped me by the front door and I heard it open.  
"You trained 'im." Dad said, leading me into the house.  
"What kind of dog is he?" I asked, curiously.

"Some kind of German shepherd mix. Maybe husky."

When we got to the living room, and I found the sofa, I plopped down. I didn't intend to get up any time soon. Not only was this too comfortable, but the thought of trying to navigate my way around an unfamiliar house with no vision to help me whatsoever was scary.  
Axel curled up on the floor beside the sofa, making a low, whining sound when I didn't reach down to pet him.

"Don't you want to go up to your room?" Dad asked.  
"No." I said simply. I eventually fell asleep.

Later in the night, I stirred awake, to find myself covered with a blanket and the dog still lying beside me. I hesitantly reached down and patted his head while he twitched in his sleep, probably dreaming about chasing squirrels or raccoons or something.  
I felt like walking around. Boy did I need it. My legs ached from not being used enough, I needed to stretch, and the idea of just being able to freely move around was far too tempting to pass up. I quietly swung my legs over the edge of the sofa, shoving the blanket to the far side of it, and stepped to the side of the dog's head. I slowly stood, wincing when floor underneath the carpet creaked. When the dog didn't move or wake, I let out a silent breath, and slid my feet over the floor, pressing down every few inches to find the weak spots I needed to avoid.  
Leaning forward a little, I searched for any piece of furniture in my way, and successfully made my way out of the living room into the hall.

I grinned when I realized how successful I actually was at my quest so far. More of this and I might be able to memorize the house's layout, and be able to make my way around without help. Baby steps, I thought, when I found another weak spot in the floor but pressed down to hard.  
Down the hallway, I found stairs. Oh, joy. I gripped the rail tightly, taking it one step at a time (literally). I counted each one. After six, I miss-stepped and tripped, falling hard against the stairs and grabbing the banister for support. That sound was loud enough to wake the dead, I thought, as my eyes welled with tears from the pain.  
Axel ran into the hall, and barked loudly. Someone came down the stairs and pried my hand from the banister and hugged me.  
I was crying. Axel licked my hand, laying his head across my lap.

"Are you okay?" Dad asked me.  
Shaking, I shook my head. "No." I said.

"What if this never ends?" I asked quietly, once I was in my own bed and nowhere near the stairs or the sofa. Axel laid over my feet, too heavy for me to even bother trying to move. He knew it.  
"It will." Dad assured me.  
"But what if it _doesn't_?" I said.  
"We'll work through it then. This isn't the end of the world."

_It felt like it was for me._

* * *

_A sudden bout of inspiration allowed me to write this all in one day. Let me know what you think._


End file.
